Lonesome Day
by xFangtasiax
Summary: Season 4 or thereabouts. Dean & Sam are on the road when the dead come calling.
1. Chapter 1

Lonesome Day:

Sam's face in the sunlight through the diner window is all shades of burnished gold, heavy darkness and other such romantic crap. Shadowed brown eyes look out through the dusty, never been washed cause this ain't New York kid, it's just a diner, order what you want and get the hell outta Dodge. He drummed his fingers on the counter top one over the other until Dean wanted to slam the none too clean glass down on his brothers' fingers. It took about three seconds.

"The hell is wrong with you? You're twitching like a cat in heat" Dean cracked, sipping whatever was in the glass, could have been orange juice, could have been cats piss. Sure tasted like it. His eyes watched his brother. Sam was all kinds of jumpy and he didn't like it. Kid was a lawyer after all, he should be able to hold together a poker face a lot longer than this. "Nothing. Nothings wrong Dean. Eat your dinner". Dean waved a forkful of something indescribable at him, narrowing golden eyebrows. "Do I look like I'm blind, Sam, you have a face like the ass of a buss and you're telling me nothings wrong?" Sam steepled his fingers together on the table, looked out once more at the fading afternoon sunlight, back at his brother. Dean was eyeing the glass suspiciously, looking around the diner, winking at a pretty redhead easily, then back to him with intense eyes that wanted an answer now. "You'll laugh" he said after a moment, glancing back out the window once more. The Impala rested in the red dirt, its tyres stained with the stuff. Dean would chuck a fit.

His brother slammed his fork down a little too loudly, making the old ladies from table seven look over with all kinds of reprimand in their eyes. Punk ass kids these days. Dean smiled, all Heaven and light, face wreathed in smiles and the baby blues twinkling like his dimples. Sweet kid , that. The two little old ladies settled, charmed. Sam shook his head. There hadn't been a problem yet Dean hadn't been able to charm his way out of. Sometimes he wondered what it'd be like if Dean ever met a succubus, wondered which one of them would win? "I'm not gonna laugh Sam, how immature do you think I am?" Dean replied, offended. Sam looked at him mistrustfully, wrinkling his lips. Dean was going to laugh and he'd bet his bottom dollar on it.

"I have this feeling..." he started and Dean tried so hard not to laugh he almost choked on his bottom lip. After a few moments of valiant struggle he gave up, snorting loudly with laughter. "You have a feeling huh Sam?" he asked, pointing a knife his brothers' way. "You wanna go on Oprah and talk about those feelings?". Sam rolled his eyes. "This is just what I mean" Dean calmed down enough to lay a hand on the table, outstretched in his brothers' direction. "Nah. Hey man, I'm sorry. Far be it from me to stop you being all new age about your feelings" saying the last two words in quotation marks. Sheesh. Sam had turned into a bonafide bleeding heart. Leave the kid alone for two minutes in law school and this is what happens. The brilliant blues darkened for a moment as he glanced away from his brother, eyeing the dirt stains on the Impala with disgust. Sam was altogether too soft, too much of a conchie to be doing this line of work. A Hunter didn't feel anything, didn't hold with anything. Sam was the only one he knew who'd discuss cases for hours afterwards, debating their merits, the philosophical leanings of each. Dean just wanted them over and done with, hands on the wheel and Metallica playing so loud it drowned out the nightmares behind his eyes. Dammit.

Sam was watching him too, laying down his cutlery and looking at Dean. "You okay?" he asked. Dean nodded, clicked his fingers at the waitress for the bill. "Sure. I'm always okay. What's this feeling you have then Sammy boy?" winking at the blonde , stacked waitress when she came their way. Dean took the bill with a flourish, signed a false name and handed it back, slipping a fake credit card to the woman.

"My feeling" he started again, watching Dean's mouth twitch. "Asshole. Is that somethings' about to happen" he said. Dean arched an eyebrow. "Seriously? We're Hunters Sammy. Somethings always about to happen". Sam sighed, nodding at the waitress as they left their table, jeans catching on the too warm pleather they'd been sat on. "No. Something on top of that I mean. More than just vampires and bad guys" he said, following Dean out into the afternoon. Dean snorted, "Yeah, maybe we'll run across a werewolf" he quipped, sliding in behind the wheel of the Impala. "No!" Sam exclaimed, "Something. I don't know, you're not getting it Dean. Something big is going to happen" "No I get it Sammy. You think somethings gonna happen. As well as the somethings that happen all the time. Its like a mega something right? Tell me, did you hit your head when you went to the little boys room or what?" Sam shut his mouth. It was no good talking to Dean. It'd be better to wait until the something actually happened and then shove it in his face. Dean watched him for a few moments as he gunned the engine, letting the revs kick over. Sam was silent, staring out the window with a fixed gaze. He sighed, "Listen Sammy, I know you got your.." he snorted, "Feelings right? But what are we gonna do about this one? Does your subconscious tell us whether we bring guns to this something?" he asked.

The noise of Dean's mobile cut through Sam's obstinate silence, startling them both. It was a special ringtone that hadn't rung in...hadnt rung since...Dean stared at him, wide eyed and his mouth open. "Is this your something?" he asked, staring down at his ringing pocket. Hell, he wasn't afraid to touch the thing, he just didnt want to. Didn't want to give the hope suddenly bubbling in his heart time to reach his eyes, cause if he checked and it wasn't who he thought it was, then Dean didnt think he could stand that sorrow again. Mourning again. It had been a long time. "I don't know" Sam lied, meeting his brothers' eyes. He knew exactly. The phone, the person on the end of the phone, it hit him now that this, was the something he'd been talking about. Vampires, succubi, animated humongous teddy bears, those they could run from, those they could take down.

Daddy Winchester was a whole other ball game.

Dean drew the phone out, stared at it like it might jump up and bite off the end of his nose. In a very un Dean like manner he shook his head, tossed the phone to Sam. "You answer it". He couldnt take not hearing the voice he wanted to hear on the end of the phone. Sam snapped it open, listened to the call connect slowly. "Sam Winchester" he heard himself say, waiting for his voice to travel down the crackle of the line.

Reaching out beyond the grave.

"Sammy? Dean there?"

Sam almost dropped the phone. It was. Dean read his shocked expression and swallowed. "Dad?" he asked. Sam nodded slowly.

John Winchester. The late John Winchester.


	2. Chapter 2

"You're kidding me right? This aint funny Sammy".

Sam glared at his brother while holding out the phone. The line was crackling. John Winchester, if it was John after all and not some idiot crank who'd got their number and googled enough on them to know Daddy dearest had passed on; was still on the line.

"I'm not kidding Dean. Dad's on the phone. He wants to speak to you".

Dean's fingers clenched tight on the steering wheel. All he'd wanted ever since Dad had died was to hear his voice again. To hear the gruff grumble tell him to quit bitching and drive. To hear John tell him for the thousandth time the Impala was no good for hunting. But now that he might really be on the end of the phone Dean found he couldnt take it. And not just because he was driving, the road stretching on empty and endless as the evening came in. Because he was scared. Because he was scared crapless that it might not be John. Sammy wasn't too good at picking up prank callers. For a law student, he was way too trusting of the people around him. But Dean had heard enough prank calls, hell he used to keep a whole schlock of them back before he kicked high school for good, to know that sometimes the joke turned malicious and nasty. What if someone knew about Dad and they'd called just to stick the knife in?

He couldnt take that chance. Hope was already winding its way around his heart, poisonous and draining. If he took the phone and some kids voice began to laugh at him, then the remnants of his sanity would up and skip off into the night. Then again, he couldnt tell his baby brother he was scared of something.

"Give it here" he snapped, holding out his hand for the phone, making a right and taking the object Sammy held out like it was a burning coal.

"Hey...asshole..whatever kind of trick you think this is, it isn't funny. So go call someone who gives a damn" he barked, slamming the phone closed.

The call ended with a sharp click. There was only silence coming from the Nokia Dean threw back at Sammy. His brother caught it, stared at it, then Dean.

"What the hell? That was Dad Dean! Dad!"

How could Dean just hang up on him like that? Sam took one more look at his brothers' face, the handsome lines folded into an expression that told Sam not to speak another word. He stared out the window fixedly. Dean hero worshipped Dad, then the guy calls and he hangs up on him? Something was wrong alright. Firstly a dead guy calls and then the dead guys' son hangs up on him. Sam felt like he was missing the connection. Couldnt understand anything. Besides the obvious fact the dead don't normally make phone calls. Why was Dean behaving like this? Normal people maybe, normal people threw phones when dead men called, but the pair of them were hardly normal. Last week Dean was flirting with a vampire, a member of the undead, yet he'd thrown the phone away from him when it contained the voice of his dead father. Sam ran his hands through the messy brown mop of curls. He just didnt get it.

"Dean? What was that all about? You knew it was Dad" he said softly.

Dean banked a hard left and focused on getting the car straight again for a few long hard moments as he considered what to say.

"No. No Sam, I don't know it was Dad. Could just have been some crank kid calling us. Remember that time that freaky girl got our number and wouldn't shut up calling? How do we know this isn't the same kind of thing?"

The words he desperately wanted to admit to his brother hung unspoken in the air. Because I'm scared it isn't Dad. Because I need to hear him so badly. But dead people don't come back Sam. They don't. They're dead, done and dusted and gone and no amount of tears you cry into your dashboard when you think your baby brothers' asleep are gonna bring the guy back. But of course, Dean didn't say any of that. He glared at Sam like this was all his fault and jabbed at the radio one more time. Metallica grew to a crescendo until Sam wanted to scratch his ears out. Glancing across at Dean once more, he saw his brothers' hands clenched so tight they were white round the wheel. A muscle in his jaw twitched over and over, almost hypnotically. Dean was blinking hard and staring anywhere but at Sam, fixed on the road like the white lines might suddenly go psychedelic on him. Sam bit his lower lip. Something had Dean spooked. Besides the obvious dead father phone call. There was something big brother wasn't telling him.

"Dean..." he started. Big brother held up a hand and refused to look at him.

"I don't wanna hear another word Sammy okay? Not about Dad. Not about feelings or hey bro, somethings' wrong okay? We got a hunting gig down in Texas and we're headed that way" he said.

"You've got issues" Sam replied after a moment. It didn't take a genius to work out Dean was touchy on the subject of Dad.

"I'm a young guy with no girlfriend, no women, no home and a job that means I spend all day trapped in an admittedly awesome car with my brother...hell yeah Sammy I have issues" Dean replied, the firm lips finally cracking into a smile. He chuckled to himself. Issues. He wished he had issues. Dean had great thumping headaches and screaming terrors. Issues would be a piece of cake.

"Funny" Sam cracked, sliding down further in the leather seat. He would have brought his feet up on the dash but he knew Dean would freak if someone so much as besmirched the beloved Impala. He'd done it once and Dean had threatened to dump him on his ass.

"I mean, you have Dad issues. Someone mentions the guys name you run a mile. This might actually be a call from him and you hang up? " Sam threw his hands up in the air.

Dean let go of the wheel with one hand to hit Sam one across the shoulder. "You ever think it might not be Dad? What if it isn't? What if we get our hopes up and it isn't?" he asked, finally saying it.

What if he's all I want to see and its' just some kid? Dean screwed his eyes shut, never a clever thing to do when you're driving but hell Dean was running on empty. He couldnt take one more disappointment, one more budding hope and then wham! Your life sucks once more.

Maybe it was because he had his eyes shut or maybe it was because he was trying so hard not to think, but he missed the figure stood by the side of the road.

He missed the figure walking into the middle of the road, missed Sammy's "For the love of...." beside him.

Opened up his eyes, blinking hard. Too late he caught Sammy's exclamation. Too late he realised there was a figure stood right in front of the Impala.

A figure with a very familiar expression on his face. All grizzled whiskers and heavy dark eyes, arms folded and a raised eyebrow quirked Deans' way. Beaten up leather jacket and jeans slung low on his hips. A t shirt that had seen better days.

John Winchester.

Forgetting everything he'd just said to Sam, Dean couldnt slam the car into park fast enough, the wheels skidding on the tarmac as he brought the Impala to a stop just before. The buckle on his seatbelt held and then almost snapped open as Dean fought impatiently with it. He couldn't look at Sammy, couldn't look up again at the man stood in front of them, fighting with the seat, the door, stumbling on the road as he got out of the car, wanting to run.


	3. Chapter III

_"Holy crap!"_

Dean could hear Sam exclaim the words loudly as he struggled with the door, hit the ground running. Sam always had been the master of the understatement. Father appears from the dead and all you can say is holy crap? But he's not thinking straight as he's running, wondering whether the man in front of him is just a ghost or whether he's Dad. Whether he's gonna put his hand through and touch nothing but air, or whether he's gonna hit solid muscle and the smell of whisky. He runs, skids to a stop before John Winchester, boots making a scraping sound on the tarmac. Behind them the door slams as Sam climbs out. Dean knows its John, for real. Not an apparition, not a ghost. Only the real deal, the human John could stand there with such an exquisite look of amusement, worry and surliness like he is.

John Winchester is stood right in front of him, wearing the same beat down jacket, the creases in the elbows and the scratches in the sleeves from when one of the muhajideen came at him the wrong way, got a rifle through the snout. He's as broad as he was before he...before he died Dean guesses. All muscle, thick forearms down by his sides, fists tucked into his Levi's. They're torn across one knee, steel capped boots scuffed to hell and filthy. John still has on his wedding ring, gleaming dully. Smells of sulphur. Has the same dark brown, messy hair like his boys. Hair that wont stay the hell down no matter how much gloop you throw on it, no matter how much you curse at the son of a bitch thing in the morning. And his face. John's face is still the same. The dark, heavy eyes holding Dean's. The same stubble, whiskers shading the tanned face. John huffs quietly, a rumble in the broad chest.

_"How long you had that thing boy? When're you gonna learn to drive it?"_

Dean stands stock still. The voice is still the same. All rough as guts and gravelly, deep like his own, heavy, husky growl in the fading sunlight. Its definetly him. And deep down inside, the little boy who worships his father just wants to throw his arms around him and cry. But this is Dean Winchester and there's never been an insult he didn't reply to.

_"The matter with you? You fail at playing dead or what?"_

John smirks, creasing a tired face into dimples. Removes one hand from the Levis to scratch at his whiskers. Dean sees with a jolt the hand is stained with blood, scarred and scratched.

_"Smart ass. Listen Dean...."_

He glances to the right sharply, as Sam stumbles onto the picture. The words are forever swallowed back, visibly biting down on the inside of his cheek, casting Dean a 'shut your face' look as Sam does what Dean wanted to do, and throws himself at John. He catches his dad in a hug, throws his arms around him. "Dad!" he exclaims, a wide eyed grin planted on the face. "How the hell?....I mean..." and he hugs Dad like he can't quite say all the words. Big shot lawyer lost for words. John pats him on the back, grips the back of his head briefly. Sam steps back, looks between Dean and Dad. He isn't stupid. There was something about to be said between the two of them and he wants in. On the other hand, his father has just returned from the dead.

_"Dad...this is going to sound really ungrateful.."_ he starts, "_But what're you doing here? Aren't you?..."_

And he trails off. Aren't you dead? Didn't you swap your soul for mine? How come you're not downstairs shovelling coal on the fire? Dean gives him a black look. Dad's here, in front of them. This is what Dean's been wanting all along, been hoping for. Been needing. And Sam's challenging a goddamn miracle right in front of them. Its more than he wants to deal with right now, so he spins on his boots and walks back towards the Impala, running his hands over the bodywork. Slides into the front seat and pulls their notebook out the glovebox, flicks through the next job. All he wants to do is talk to John.

John's a step behind him, suprising him as he leans down into the drivers' window of the car, the smell of aftershave and whisky grinding on Dean's nose like long forgotten memories. He remembers Dad in the truck when they were little, swinging them by an icecream store and watching them with that look like he thought they were made of gold when he thought little Dean wasn't watching. But little Dean had always been watching.

_"You pmsing?"_ John asks.

Dean snorts, the eyes have a flicker of amusement in them as he raises them John's way. Smirks. Like father like son.

_"Always. Sammy needs his dad time"_ he says and there's a little something in there John catches, leans down further, folds his arms across the window.

"_Dean..." _he starts and Sammy comes by again.

He slides into the other seat of the car, looks up at the not quite ghost and says, "_Hop in"._ John glances over the Impala with barely concealed distaste.

_"Hey"_ Dean says protectively. "_Dead guys don't get to be choosers Dad"_

This time its John that snorts, clicks his fingers for Sam to slide on in back, and gets in the passenger seat next to Dean. Glances behind at his youngest, whose eyes are already bleary with lack of sleep. Head already nodding. He looks back at Dean, sees the hands clenched too tight on the wheel, the muscle ticking too hard in his jaw. The hollows under his eyes and the pain in the way he breathes. John sees the hurt Dean's been trying so hard to hide. And it goddamn twists him in half to watch Dean struggle. And know that it ain't gonna get any easier any time soon sunshine.


	4. Chapter 4

They drive in silence for a while, Dean's fingers tense around the steering wheel. John is silent in the passenger seat, only Sam talks. He talks like he just discovered how, until John can see Dean's jaw clench tight as Dean silently prays he'll sleep soon.

Eventually, Sam begins to ramble off in the middle of his words, resting his head against the glass and drifting off as the night falls in around them. Dean flicks the headlights on a little brighter, scratches his knee idly. Waits for John to speak. All the time Sam's been running his mouth Dad's never let up where's been, other than dead of course, how he got back, why he's here. He just let Sam talk on, dodging the questions, never answering them properly and Sam's exhausted mind never picked up on it. John is silent for a long time, hoarse sounding breaths coming from him as he rests back against the seat, closes his eyes.

"You didn't get enough sleep being dead?" Dean asks.

John cracks open an eye as if hes' debating whether to crack him one or not. He sits forward, groans as the aching muscles in his back stretch. Skips the question and replaces it with one of his own.

"You got angel friends now boy?"

Dean makes an unexpected swerve as the words throw him. He rights the car, swears while the older Winchester's gaze never moves from him, not even when the Impala lurches for a ditch. Sam sleeps on.

Castiel.

Of course. For a long moment now Dean is silent, the fingers on the wheel a little looser. Castiel's brought Dad back. Dean doesn't know why, maybe the angels have some plan for him. Or maybe the angelic friend saw how Dean was suffering. Either way, he wants to talk to angels. Like yesterday.

"One" Dean admits.

"Surly looking ass?" John questions, rooting around in the glovebox for the whisky Dean keeps there. Finds it, snaps the lid off it and drinks. It spills down around his lips, down his whiskers and Dean rolls his eyes.

"Castiel's not an ass" he remarks. Wishes he could talk to him right now. John grunts and Dean can't tell from the grunt whether he's agreeing with him or not.

"When you were down there, he the one that..." John starts. He never gets to finish 'cause Dean throws himself in on the conversation, needing to end the sentence. He hates hearing anyone finish it. When he was in Hell. Only Sammy kind of knows what happened down there and even baby brother doesn't know the whole story. Sam got the g rated version and even the g rated version gives Dean nightmares. Hates hearing those words come out of anyone elses' mouth. Never crosses his mind Johns' seen the same things. The one person who'd understand the terrors he sees when he shuts his eyes and he's keeping it from him.

"The one that saved me, yeah" he admits.

John's dark eyes look out the window for a mile or so. Saved him. Interesting choice of words. Not that he isn't grateful the angel got his baby boy out of Hell or anythin' like that, but something in the glowing, furious eyes of Castiel when he appeared to John, makes him think twice. Not a whole lot of mercy and redemption in that gaze.

Glances across sideways at Dean. He's a little calmer, doesn't grip the wheel quite so tight. The boy's too skinny, used to be lithe muscle like his old man but there're hollows on his son now that John hates. And a darkness in his eyes that cuts at his heart. The joking kid who never took goddamn nothing seriously is taking everything to heart.

"Dad.." Dean starts and John nods, slouches in his seat so he's facing Dean. "Yeah?"

"Was it Castiel that came for you?" he asked. It isn't quite what he wants to ask. He wants to ask a whole boatload of things but Dean cant quite stop the tremble behind his lips when he goes to ask it. The elder Winchester has only just re-appeared but Dean knows he needs to be alone. The nightmares are back and he wants to burrow his fists deep in his eyes and claw them out. But he cant do that with Daddy Dearest watching. It'd be weakness and there ain't nothing John hates more than weakness in his boys. Didnt train them that way and sure as hell aint' gonna let it happen now. Dean can recite the words by heart.

"Yeah. Like I said, surly looking ass" he leans forward to watch a road sign pass by, reading it. Scratches at his whiskers as he settles again into the seat, creaks the old leather with his spine. "How close are you with that angel anyhow?"

Dean's fists clench too tight on the steering wheel. John can see them, bloodless and white, watches Deans teeth bite down on his inside lip. The voice, when it comes, is thin and fragile, hard and close to shattering.

"Castiel. He got me out" is all he'll say. When John asks again, thats all he gets.

Sam's been awake a while, watching the two of them. Dean and John's mussed up hair as they've leant towards each other talking. Each reflected in the others' midnight eyes. The unshaven blonde stubble on Deans' jawline and the heavy shadow on his fathers'. The way both of their shoulders' bow with a weight Sam can't understand . They look more alike than ever. He leans forward, touches Dean in the shoulder, makes his older brother jump a mile and then curse at himself. The cracks are starting to show and he needs to be alone. Right now. Reincarnated Dad or not.

"You haven't said anything yet" he tells Dean, who quirks an eyebrow back his way.

"Said what?" John asks, frowning at Dean. "You got a problem?" cracks his knuckles. He can take care of it. What he can't take care of is the pain he sees in Dean right now. Can't get through his own.

"I've been having these feelings the past couple of days Dad. Like something was coming, more than just our usual stuff. Then we get this phone call from you. Then you appear" Sam explains.

John shrugs, "Could just be me" he says simply.

"Castiel comes and gets you out? Nah...there's something going on here. I can still feel it and I don't know what it is. Like we all need to be together" Sam replies.

Dean's fists clench so tight pain runs up his arms. "Sammy...give it a freakin' rest with the Brady Bunch shit yeah?" His voice is harsher than he meant and Sam shrinks back a little in the seat.

Only a little, then he comes back stronger, jabs Dean a point right in the scapula. "You gonna tell Dad how much you missed him? Huh? How much you cried?" And Sam doesn't know why he's saying this. It isn't right, not to pull apart and pick at Dean's misery like this. It isn't him. It isn't the way Sam acts. But there's something in him that wants to wound Dean right now, for that comment. All he meant was that they had to stick together, that John was back for a reason and part of that reason was they were three now, not two. But Dean had shut him down and now this roiling thing inside of Sam made him want to lash out at Dean and wound. As he says it, he can see Dean's face shut down, see him retreat, lock down and he wants to snatch back the words, swallow them. The pain thats hiding in Dean's eyes is awful.

The growling kind of sputter that Dean gives next makes Sam stop stone cold dead. "Need. Petrol".

All of a sudden he jerks the Impala too roughly off the tarmac, into a beat down old petrol station that may or may not be working. He scrambles out too fast, bangs his knee on the door, sends it flying open, curses in the night. John looks at the petrol gauge. The cars' three quarters' full. They had enough to run all night. But Dean's already out of the car, throwing the keys back at John, who catches them before they hit him in the cheek. Dean is up and running, out past the petrol station, ignoring the old guy who comes out to meet them. He runs to the end of the concrete, to where the dust and the desert come together and he retches. Runs a little further, til the rise of the petrol station is behind him and when he's sure neither brother nor father can see him, then he hits his knees. Burrows his fits in the sand and lets the tears come silently.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean retches like there's no tomorrow, runs his hands through messy hair and holds the back of his neck. Shit. He hasn't felt like this since...

Well...since Dad died if you wanted to be honest about it. Since Castiel left the last time, right after he'd said there was nothing he could do. But now John was back and somehow Castiel was worked into it. And Dean was out here crying like a bitch about it. Sammy would be back at the car, wanting to come help. John was...Dean didnt know what John was doing.

The pain inside of him he'd carried around since John had left was breaching the borders he'd placed. Dean'd spent so long packing them, so long hiding every single little thing he'd felt from his brother. Had to be the strong one, had to show that nothing touched good old Dean Winchester. Good ol' Southern boy to the last just like his dear old Dad. Give him a gun and off he runs. But he'd felt everything. Sat up so many nights the front seat of the Impala while Sammy slept, replaying every last conversation with John. How much he'd wanted to say and how he'd never got to say it. Now John was back and he couldn't. The tears he'd kept buried the last months came out, ran down his face like dirty streams and he was on his knees. Dean had his hands in the dirt now, letting it trickle through fingers.

He didnt hear the footsteps come up behind him, the soft footfalls or the way someone crouched down just next to him. Dean only felt the hand on his upper arm, the way it had been before, the burning handprint on the skin.

"Cas" he says and feels the angel sit down next to him, long, sprawling legs in the dirt.

It never fails to amuse him how much Castiel likes to do these human things and he finds himself smiling through the tears. He can't cry in front of Sammy, wont cry in front of John but Castiel saw all this in Hell and he's kind of glad Castiels here.

"Dean" Castiel says and nothing more, a peaceful kind of silence while Dean sifts through the pieces in his heart.

"Sorry" he says after a moment "I kind of needed that".

He wipes his nose on the back of his hand, causing Castiel to sniff imperceptibly. The dark haired being looks him over with that look that Dean can never decipher.

"You've been running on for too long Dean" he says and doesn't move the hand on the shoulder.

Dean hates being touched but he lets it stay. It doesn't bother him.

"Yeah?" he asks. "So now you're the angel of mercy then? When you'd get that gig?"

Castiel snorts in a distinctly unangellike fashion. "Angel of mercy" he mutters to himself.

"Well face it Cas, you're not big on appearing at the right time to give comfort. Now when I'm falling apart you're here?" he asks.

Castiel's lip twitches. "That sounds like your daytime television" he remarks and Dean smirks.

"Kinda does. Here, hold my hand and let me go all weepy"

Castiel cuts him a rough look and snorts again, looking out past the both of them to the spreading desert. Dean wonders if thats all he sees, the desert, or do the supernatural eyes pick out more. Does he see the worlds' suffering? Does he see the humans in need? Does he see the battle and how it goes? And if he does, how does he stand it?

"You saved Dad" Dean states and Castiel nods.

"I did" Stubbornly angelically, Castiel says nothing else.

"You going to tell me why?" Dean asks.

"Nope" Castiel replies, looking at Dean. He seems to take in the tear stained face and the pain evident in Dean's eyes, relenting a little.

"You both have a mission Dean. You'll need each other. I'll be there when you need me" he explains.

"He loves you" Castiel adds and Dean blinks at him, turning away at the mention of the word. "Your father loves you the most"

Dean snorts with laughter, wiping the tears. "Cas. I'm not 5 and in some temper tantrum here. I don't need to know who Dad loves the most"

Castiel ignores this. Dean needs to know he isn't alone.

"Work through this" he indicates Dean's feelings with a wave of his hand.

"Easier said than done" Dean replies and for a moment Castiel looks troubled by the pain in the arrogant face next to him. Dean is never depressed, Dean is never down. The Dean he sees in front of him causes Castiel pain of his own.

"Talk it over with John" Castiel suggests and Dean swears.

"Dad? Yeah right. He doesn't wanna listen...yeah I know..I'm loved and that but John Winchester aint the guy you have D&M's with Cas. You mixed the wrong one up in Hell"

Castiel shrugs, giving the impression he should have unfolding wings coming from the shrugging shoulders. Instead he has a trench coat and a look of obstinate patience.

"Dad's in the car anyways. Probably drinking my bourbon" Dean mutters.

"Your fathers' coming for you" Castiel replies.

Once he says it, Dean realises its true. John's footsteps are soft, quiet, but he can hear them coming amongst the twigs and the dust underneath his feet. John's come looking for him and from the clipped way he's breathing, he knows John's feelings are maybe as mixed up as his own.

John slouches down behind him, skids his ass in the dirt and curses viciously. Dean turns to Castiel and the angel is silent, a watcher at his shoulder, oddly comforting. Dean turns to John. "You left Sammy on his own?"

John tells him to shut up. "He's fine. Quit your bitching. You and I need to talk" he orders and Dean can feel the smugness radiating off Castiel. John's voice is gruff, rough, like it was when he was 5 and almost fell off his bike into the oncoming path of a car and John saw.

"I've been talking with angels" Dean comments, wanting to laugh suddenly.

John glances where Castiel is. Sees nothing. "Yeah? You been focusing on it too much" he says and Dean glances at Castiel next to him. The angel is still silent.


	6. Chapter 6

And the angel stays silent, looking past Dean to John with impassive eyes. It's impossible for Dean to tell what Castiel feels for the man, whether he likes him or whether he saved John under sufferance.

Either way he's thankful for it in a way he'd never show.

Dean drops his gaze from Castiel, kicks dust up over his boots. John breathes slow and easy next to him. It occurs to the eldest son that John doesn't breathe this way around Sammy. Around Sammy John is sharp, alert, breathing short and staccato. Now he seems almost relaxed. Almost, long muscles still tense as he sits next to his son.

"You gonna quit eyeing me boy?" John queries, slapping his jeans pockets for a cigarette.

"The dead smoke?" Dean quipped, watching his father slide out his lighter, click it until a bright flame pierced the daylight.

"How many times I gotta tell you? I look dead to you?" John asked, inhaling the smoke. He glanced back over his shoulder at Sammy asleep in the car. There was a wealth of darkness in his eyes as he did, running his gaze over the Impala and the man inside.

"No, no Dad, you don't look dead to me" Dean says absentmindedly, still kicking dirt.

"Quit that. What are you? 5?"

Dean is struck by the memory of him at 5. Older than a 5 year old should be, travelling in the back of the truck trying to keep a crying Sammy quiet. He bows his head again, wishing he'd brought cigarettes of his own. John doesn't share. He's itching for a beer but knows the man next to him will crap on about being an alcoholic. Really, he should be allowed any addiction he wants. A man goes to Hell and back again, literally, you don't begrudge him a little of the hard stuff now and again. Trouble is, it isn't just now and again. Not anymore.

"We have to talk?" he asks.

John sighs, "Yeah. About Sammy."

Dean glances back at the car now too, sees his brothers' hair against the window as he sleeps.

"What about Sammy? What big plan is he scheduled for this time?"

John looks like he wants to smack him one. "Nothing. He ain't scheduled for nothing cept a trip downstairs."

Dean freezes, hands halfway to his own pockets in a vain search for a cigar. Sam? In Hell? He knows like he knows his own name his brother won't survive down there. All jokes about lawyers aside Sammy just ain't cut out for it. Dean and John were cut from the same cloth and it had nearly snapped Dean in two. If it hadn't been for Castiel, if Castiel had been a few more days...He became aware of the angel at his shoulder, the warm weight of his friend against his back.

"He's right Dean. So are you." Castiel says.

John cocks his head like he's trying to catch a whisper just out of reach but settles back again, hands on his knees.

"Somethings coming for him Dean. Something that has everyone worried" John says.

"Any idea what it is?" Dean asks, kicking over into Hunter mode.

John rolls his eyes. Rookie mistake. "If I had any idea do you think I'd be begging your help and placing your ass in danger?" he cracks.

Dean shrugs. He didn't mean to and as soon as his shoulders move he's sorry for the movement. It was natural. When he was little John hadn't seemed to think twice about putting him in danger, telling him he'd be there. As he'd grown up Dad hadn't always been there. Dean had grown up mostly alone. He was used to placing his ass in danger as Dad had said. He refused to apologise, cocking his head at the older man and meeting the dark gaze with his own golden one. John refused to apologise too and they sat, locked in stalemate.


End file.
